Masquerade
by Elphaba01
Summary: "D'you want to get me pissed?" "N -" "Take advantage of me?" "No!" "Oh. Well." She smirks at him. "That's a bloody shame, 'cause that was my intention." / Remus attends one of James's strict masquerades, and is surprised at what he finds. One-shot! Slightly AU. Remus/Tonks


_**I don't own Harry Potter.**_

* * *

He feels it before he hears it. The ice-cold liquid seeps through his second-hand polo, goosebumps spreading through his skin at the sudden coolness of it. Cautiously, he softly brushes a finger over it, swiftly lifting it back up to his nose for a short whiff.

Wine.

"Shit! Merlin, I'm so sorry, this happens all the time," a voice mutters in a rush, and a hand quickly brushes his stomach that's blossoming with red wine. "I'm an idiot – I'll wash it off for you, give it me afterwards... not that I'm eager to see you shirtless – you're attractive! Don't worry! I just –"

He raises his eyes to meet hers, and he can't help it; a quiet chuckle seeps out of him.

Bubbly. That's the only word he can possibly think of to match her appearance - pink hair sprouting in all directions, deep red lips made for a smirk, ripped leggings, knee-length leather boots, a _Weird Sisters_ tee that's several sizes too big; she even wore starry, glittering make-up that sprinkled across her cheekbones. Her eyes are a deep blue with hues of purple, but, to his surprise, they change like a kaleidoscope.

Yet, he has no idea who she is, and has no way of knowing.

Well, it _is _the annual Potter Masked Masquerade.

("It_was Lily's idea."_)

"That's quite alright," he says earnestly, holding her wrists in mid-air and letting go. Her arms flop back down to her sides. "It's just a shirt."

She knits her eyebrows, popping her hips and looking up at him as if he's grown another head. "You know, if I did that to anyone else, they would've popped my ear drums and demanded that I bought them a new one," she says.

"Is that a fact?" He's smiling.

"It's happened before." She laughs, drinking the remaining remnants of her wine. "You could say I'm a bit reckless. Runs in the family."

"Reckless? You? Never," he says sarcastically, but the effect is slightly spoilt with his wolfish grin; it widens within every second of hearing her laugh.

"Shut up," she breathes, suddenly looking around the room with a bite of her lip. With a spontaneous snatch of his hand, she begins to drag him away, smoothly grabbing three bottles of firewhiskey with one hand from the cluttered refreshments table and slipping out of the hall.

He guesses she doesn't take the masquerade as seriously as James made him to.

"I'm sorry," she admits when the hubbubs of chatter and music fades away (though, he can still hear the echo of the Monks's _Nice Legs, Shame About the Face _- Sirius's choice, clearly), and the kind soft breeze eases its way into the hallway. "I could hardly breathe in there."

"So we're having our own party elsewhere?" he guesses, raising a curious eyebrow.

"I s'pose," she says. "Sorry. If you were having a whale of a time in there, you can go back -"

He shakes his head, lurching forward into an opened door. It's a supply closet, stocked with barrels upon barrels of exotic wines, Firewhiskey and Butterbeer, with shelves so high that he can barely see the top shelf. The room's more like a freezer, but he doesn't seem feel the cold like he usually does.

He supposes she has this affect on people.

Behind him, she scoffs loudly, her voice echoing across the room. "What're you trying to say, sir?" she teases, skipping in front of him and observing the barrels. "D'you want to get me pissed?"

"N -"

"Take advantage of me?"

He blushes. "No!"

"Oh. Well," she says, turning back and smirking at him, and he manages to see her eyes changing into a lime green before he looks down, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "That's a bloody shame, 'cause that was _my _intention."

"It wasn't mine," he blurts, snapping his head upright so suddenly he thought his neck almost cracked. "I would never take advantage of you. Or anyone. I've never took advantage of -"

She's smiling softly, rifling her hair with a casual hand. "Are you always this nervous, or is it just me?"

"Just you." He doesn't even know whether it's a lie or not.

"How romantic." Her eyes sparkle, her bony fingers wrapping around a bottle and eagerly popping it open, excitedly yelping at the pop. He follows her lead, sliding down next to her. "Now let's see what kind of a drunk you are, eh?"

The time flurries past, filled with slurred words, idle chatter and hysterical laughter. They share humorous tales of their childhood, and their years at Hogwarts, not mentioning any names or descriptions (it seems that she's by far amused by the code of conduct James strictly has made Remus abide) - Remus steers readily away from the darker times, and it seems that she does, too. It's too soon to delve into the more secretive things.

When he asks why she doesn't like her family outside of her parents, she rolls her eyes, throwing her head back for another swig of Firewhiskey. "That," she breathes, pointing at him with the bottle, "is for when we're more drunk."

After a couple of hours they're more drunk than tipsy, deeming it best to rip out the cork and widening their mouths, galleons of wine streaming down their throat and flowing down their chins. It's so funny he can hardly breathe - when was the last time he's ever laughed this hard?

He idly guesses from the time Lily dragged him along to see _Shaun of the Dead_premiere in cinemas, but even that seems boring compared with her smile.

They eventually calm down, their alcoholic rollercoaster ride momentarily decreasing in its hype. His head is in her lap, lying down on the hard tarmac floor, looking upwards at the warm, sunset-lit ceiling and the tips of her crazed pink strands. She's fiddling with his thick sandy-grey locks when she suggests Twenty Questions.

First, it's the simple ones.

"Favourite colour and why?"

"That's two questions, you cheeky bastard," she replies, causing him to snort. Sighing, she admits, "It's not actually pink. It's green. And I dunno, I just... really, really like green. It's symbolical. New beginnings, I guess."

"You do look like a new beginning."

She leans over him, smiling strangely at him. "Nobody's ever said that to me before," she says in a light tone. "What's yours? _And why_?"

"I don't know, I'm kind of liking pink right now," he says with a grin, ignoring her accusing names and cutting in with his question. "What's your name?"

"Can't say. Ha! Wasted your question!" she trills, beaming down at him. "Okay. Um... favourite subject at school."

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. Your worst subject?"

"Potions. I only just spilt all the ingredients, didn't I?" she says rhetorically, momentarily pausing to reflect. Remus pictures her mysterious masked self hopelessly lurching for flasks and viles that're seconds away from dropping, and he chuckles under his breath as she continues. "What house were you in?"

"Gryffindor. I would've been in Ravenclaw if I didn't beg the Hat to sort me with my friends - I was very, ah, clingy towards my friends back then," he answers, with the appropriate amount of trivia.

But she cuts in before he can return the question. "Really? You don't seem like a clingy person to me. You're so very mysterious."

"Says the girl who won't tell me her name," he mutters, but she hears and smirks cheekily at him. "What about you? I'm guessing Gryffindor."

"Nope, Hufflepuff." She wears a proud grin. "I know, my parents were surprised, too. But my Sorting were just as quick as the Malfoy's - I was hardly on the chair. Though, my year was a clever lot, so there was only two Hufflepuffs that year. Me and this girl called Monique."

"I didn't know that could happen."

"Nor did I," she says in a far-away tone, as if remembering something with bittersweet melancholy, looking forward so all he can see is her milky throat and the tip of her chin. Closing his eyes, he hears her inhaling deeply, and for a long time he just patiently listens to her breathing, finally thankful for his keen sense of hearing. It feels like hours until she says something again. "Let's go drink some more."

"Sure that's a good idea?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm only mildly tipsy, anyway."

He soon finds out that she's a giddy drunk, her loud guffaws of laughter turning into small, immature giggles, her thin shoulder bumping lightly into his every now and then every time he cracks out a witty remark. Twenty Questions turn into fifty, perhaps hundreds - he's lost count.

He blames the alcohol.

Yes, he blames the alcohol for _forcing_ him to stare into her eyes for more than twenty seconds at a time.

Oh, it's the alcohol's fault for not filtering anything from his brain - but at least he's telling the truth when he tells she's pretty.

But he'd be jealous if he says that the Firewhiskey kisses her.

She tastes of alcohol and bubblegum and wine, with a small trace of cigarettes. She's just so _bubbly_ - even her laugh bubbles through his lips when he trips over and recklessly tackles her to the ground, his stomach bursting with each _pop pop pop _at the feel of her lips fervently kissing him, his blazing throat, his flaring jaw line. The t-shirts are the first to go off, the feel of her skin pressed up against his, like sparks cackling along a bonfire, making his heart beast zealously against his chest.

He's almost doesn't hear her.

"Nymphadora," she whispers into his mouth, before he momentarily breaks away to listen. "My name is Nymphadora."

"What a beautiful name, Dora," he murmurs, smiling as he pulls off her mask and throws it to the side.

"I've never liked my name," she says, her irises shrunk and wild. She's far, _far_ away from mildly tipsy. "Too long. Doesn't suit me at all. People expect something else when they hear it off a register but they're disappointed with what they see. Me."

He knits his eyebrows.

"No! No, I like it when you call me that," she gushes, widening her eyes at him as she hiccups. Shaking her head, she brushes a hand along the scar on his shoulder. "_Dora_, hm? You'll get away with that. I suppose your voice just _does things_."

He tucks a stray strand of pink behind her pierced ear, amber eyes sparkling and bright. "I'm Remus," he says, throwing off his mask and capturing her lips once more.

"Mm, Romulus your twin?"

"_Well_ -"

"Ugh, just shut up and kiss me, you idiot."

* * *

**This was originally posted on my tumblr for a fanfiction challenge called 'hpendurance'. The prompt was _"y_****our character attends a masquerade and makes a drunken confession."**

**I just thought I'd post it on here, since it was fun to write and I love these two :3**


End file.
